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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207579">holding on for tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist'>soupytwist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5 things fic, Domesticity, Established Relationship, M/M, North London, ethical uses of superpowers, fluffy to the point that it's candyfloss really, handwaving timelines like doctor who, soft uses of superpowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jon is very careful not to read Martin's mind without asking.</em>
</p><p>or: Five times Jon appreciated his Archivist powers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>holding on for tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/gifts">raven (singlecrow)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set in some delightful fluffy world where Jon is full-on Archivist but the actual apocalypse bit hasn't happened, or has been fixed, or something. This is fluffy self-indulgence, basically, please don't expect it to make that much sense in terms of the continuity. And yes, the title is from the Blur song, I have zero shame.</p><p>Love and thanks also to imperfectcircle, for beta services at the speed of light. Any resemblance to actual bathrooms is entirely deliberate but all remaining issues or errors are mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>1.  Accident</strong>
</p><p> Jon is very careful not to read Martin's mind without asking. It's true that sometimes bits and pieces make their way in anyway, sliding past his defences before he even knows they're there, but those are like drops of rain compared to a vast ocean. He doesn't <em>want</em> to know anything that Martin isn't willing to tell him, so it isn't a problem.</p><p>The things he does find out about Martin accidentally are mostly the sort of deeply boring minutae that only somebody in love would even register. He discovers that Martin pats each knife and fork before putting them into the cutlery drawer because there's a part of him that worries they won't feel appreciated otherwise. He finds out that Martin sometimes watches the birds out of the window as they swoop and dive, and that he has theories about where their nests are. Martin knows there are exactly thirty seven steps down to the nearest Tube station, because he's counted, every time, just in case the number changes.</p><p>One or two of the things he finds out are about himself.</p><p>“Wait, you like my socks?” he says, surprised into admission after a kiss on the temple imparts this information straight into his brain.</p><p>“You didn't actually check which socks you were putting on, did you?” says Martin, clearly amused.  He finishes checking in his rucksack and slings it over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”</p><p>Jon looks down. His socks are, in fact, Martin's socks, and they have dinosaurs on them. “Yes,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>2. Callout</strong>
</p><p> They first find out there's an issue with the plumbing in the flat when they wake up one morning and the shower is full of foul-smelling brown water that definitely does not belong there. It's disgusting, and Jon is deeply resentful at the idea that his Saturday is now apparently going to be spent <em>not</em> in the park reading, but waiting for a plumber.</p><p>Martin, with a look of sudden inspiration on his face and a plunger in one hand, asks, “Wait, can you... <em>Know</em> what the problem is? Is that a thing you can do?” He gives the plunger a very characteristic slightly forlorn glare before adding, fervently, “I <em>really</em> hope that's a thing you can do.”</p><p>Jon can. He also knows which plumbers on the list are actually available for emergency callout. He does not know what all the technical terms he's using on the phone to the plumber actually mean, at least not without putting more effort in than he wants to after going from 'sleepy' to 'Jesus Christ the bathroom' in thirty seconds flat, but he does know they're correct. </p><p>The plumbing is fixed in time to have a picnic tea.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>3. A Birthday Present</strong>
</p><p>Jon is not, historically, good at gifts. When he was with Georgie, he once tried to buy her flowers, without realising she didn't have anything to put them in. Long after she'd found a tooth mug from somewhere and told him they were lovely, he'd discovered that the kind he got didn't even last very long. </p><p>Georgie herself, when discussing the incident later, had said that that was the <em>point</em> of flowers, Jon,  it was completely fine, they made a student bedroom look nicer for a while, there was nothing wrong with that, seriously. But Jon is still surprised when Melanie calls him one day and the first thing he hears is, “Jon, do you have five minutes? I need your help. It's, um, it's a Georgie's-birthday-related emergency,” and not just because their usual communication involves a lot of bitchy text messages about whatever boring meeting they happen to be in.</p><p>The actual problem isn't choosing the gift: Melanie has already decided to buy her a painting, one Georgie particularly liked. The problem is that the painting is up for some sort of auction.</p><p>“An auction! I don't know what to do at an auction, I've never even bought art before. If she wasn't the most perfect woman alive – and I still don't know how you let her get away, but <em>thank you</em> for that – I wouldn't bother.”</p><p>“I could... try to see who else is coming to the auction?” says Jon. The phone digs into his ear as he holds it there with his shoulder to keep his hands free while he finishes pouring the milk into his  cup of tea. “Do you know where it's going to be?”</p><p>“It's called Bonhams or something,” says Melanie. She makes a little huff noise. “She really liked this stupid painting.”</p><p>“All right, let me try.” Jon reaches out with the part of his mind that connects to the endless and the true, slowly, trying to feel for what might be relevant without becoming overwhelmed. There's a rush: the security staff at the auction house drinking coffee together, the swirl of a signature, the auctioneer's grandmother is ill, <em>the jewellery lot is number 86, don't forget</em>. None of it seems that useful. “I'm sorry, Melanie, I think I'll have to come with you to the auction itself if you want any more information, if you'd like me to.”</p><p>“That would – that would be nice actually.” A pause. “I suppose hunting ghosts doesn't actually prepare you for hunting bargains.”</p><p>“Did you really just say that,” says Jon. “Really.” </p><p>“Fine, I did, but I won't admit it if you tell anyone.”</p><p>“That's between you and your conscience.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>4. Aisle 4</strong>
</p><p> The nearest supermarket to the flat is actually a Tesco, but it's a tiny one, a Tesco Express with only two aisles and a fridge. Because of this, they usually do their shopping at the big Sainsbury's further down the main road: it's a bit annoying to go all that way, but for anything beyond the most basic of necessities, the trip is worth it. Ten minutes extra effort isn't that far to go for a whole aisle dedicated to biscuits and another devoted entirely to pasta.</p><p>The big Sainsbury's also has doughnuts, sold fresh from the bakery. This, Jon has learned, is one of the things Martin is genuinely passionate about; Martin can and will explain for up to ten minutes why it's pointless eating doughnuts that were cooked more than a few hours before, and why properly fresh doughnuts are worth putting some real effort in to find. Enough other people agree with him, apparently, that the fresh doughnuts sell out fast; there's even occasional complaints about this on the local Facebook group, which Martin sometimes reads out to Jon over tea and toast in the morning. </p><p>Jon can't make the Tesco Express stock the good biscuits, but he <em>can</em> schedule their trips to Sainsbury's so that they arrive when the doughnut cabinet has just been restocked. </p><p>It takes Martin six months to realise he's doing it deliberately. Jon is pretty smug when he sees how delighted Martin is, and resigns himself with only the most token gesture of visible grumpiness to being a walking, talking stock-checker for the foreseeable future.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>5.  Past and Future</strong>
</p><p> Martin is the one who does most of the cleaning in the flat. He is also the one who actually bothered to put together a budget spreadsheet. (“It's <em>Excel</em>, Jon, not existential horrors from the great beyond. You've used Excel before, I've <em>literally</em> seen you do it.”) Martin is chief spider-catcher, and tends to be the one who remembers when the bins are due.</p><p>Jon, for his part, quickly becomes the one who actually puts them out for emptying, especially if it's raining. Jon's also the one who does the laundry. Martin, for some reason, finds this incredible, even though he's perfectly capable of running a washing machine himself; that Jon does this basic task without prompting is enough to get Martin threatening to write poetry about how nice fresh clean sheets are. Martin says this is because it's different when you haven't had to change the bedding yourself. Jon  doesn't mind. If the fact that laundry items these days come with tags which tell you how to wash them properly is some sort of arcane knowledge, well, there's worse.</p><p>They're folding a duvet cover together one quiet Sunday afternoon. The rain is pattering at the windows with a shushing sound that makes it feel like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Jon is in one of those moods where he wouldn't care that much if it didn't, because their flat is safe and dry and comfortable and has Martin in it, and he can't, at this precise moment, imagine wanting anything much beyond that.</p><p>Martin is humming under his breath. It's a pleased, domestic sort of noise that goes well with the clean smell of laundry.</p><p>“My mother used to hum doing the laundry too,” says Jon, taking the edge of the duvet from Martin so he can neaten it for the final fold.</p><p>“Oh, that's nice,” says Martin. “Did your grandmother tell you about that?”</p><p>“I – no – I don't think–” Jon suddenly feels very strange, because he <em>Knows</em> that it's true, he  is absolutely sure of it, can practically hear the tune. But his grandmother never told him that, his grandmother barely told him anything unless he asked about it. And yet it's a fact. A gift from the universe. The duvet cover hits the floor with a soft <em>flump</em>.</p><p>“Jon? Jon, are you okay?”</p><p>He must look strange too, because Martin sounds worried: that's the voice Jon associates with last stands and corkscrews and climbing out of the pit to find a circle of tape recorders. Jon manages to sit down on the end of the bed, and reaches out a hand, blindly. Martin takes it. Jon takes a breath.</p><p>“I'm okay. I'm okay. I just – I didn't know that about my mother until, well, right now. This second.”</p><p>Martin's eyes go huge. “Ohhh. Oh, Jon.” He squeezes Jon's hand and takes a step closer. Jon tugs lightly to get him to take another step, which puts him at exactly the right height for Jon to bury his face in Martin's jumper. Martin immediately starts petting Jon's hair. </p><p>“I didn't know I wanted to know that,” he says, muffled, into Martin's tummy.</p><p>“That's all right,” says Martin, gently. </p><p>“People find things out about their parents all the time.” </p><p>“That's right, they do.” Martin is still petting Jon's hair. “But most of them don't have it <em>imparted directly into their brains</em>, so you can give yourself a break for finding it a bit weird, all right?”</p><p>“Ugh, fine,” says Jon. He sits up just enough that he's no longer masquerading as Martin's outerwear. He scrubs at his face.</p><p>Martin holds out his hands to help Jon up. Jon takes them.</p><p>They pick up the duvet and finish folding it and putting it away. Outside, the rain has now stopped, leaving the sun to peek through and sparkle off the puddles. It's going to be a nice afternoon. Jon thinks he might go down the road to the Oxfam Books: they've just got one of Martin's favourites in. The shop assistant doesn't know it yet, she hasn't checked, but it's a signed first edition. He thinks Martin will like that.</p><p>Maybe he'll buy doughnuts, too.</p>
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